How Dean Discovers Cas' Wings Are Real
by DirectionallyChallenged
Summary: He's left breathless. But not from awe.


When Dean finally found Cas, he was standing on the edge of the ravine, gazing down into the valley below. His attention seemed laser focused on a particular band of wild mustangs that were grazing in the fields, a couple of the newborn foals prancing around each other on unsteady legs.

The angel's overcoat fluttered in the wind, whipping around the legs of his slacks, and his hair stuck up more on one side than the other, indicating which direction the wind was currently blowing. Dean took a moment to admire the the sun sinking below the far horizon, dotted with trees, and how the fading rays seemed to illuminate Cas' being. It was one of the rare times that the angel actually looked celestial, instead of like a ruffled AM radio ad time salesman.

"Hey Cas!" Dean called finally, taking a couple steps forward. "We need - "

Dean's voice was cut off suddenly from the lack of air in his lungs. Something long and hard had struck him across the midsection, nailing his Xiphoid, resulting in a forceful expulsion of breath and the inability to regain the needed oxygen to ask what the hell just happened?

Once when he was twelve, he'd been caught in the same manner with a baseball bat, and afterwards, Dean had resolved never to allow himself anywhere near something that could inflict that much damage again. But it didn't matter. Whatever had struck him now was just as solid and wielded with twice as much force than the fourteen-year-old bully had used years back.

"Dean? Dean, can you hear me?"

The hunter's head swam. He realized he could breathe again, although every expansion of his lungs caused pain to radiate throughout his chest, and that at some point, he had landed on his back at least fifteen feet from where he started.

"Dean. Please look at me. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Dean squinted up at where Cas hovered over him. The angel's expression was one of concern, though both of his hands were on the ground, obviously missing a crucial element in allowing Dean to answer his question. Dean tried to laugh, but barely succeeded in a pitiful wheeze, before his eyes closed again.

Cas fell silent for a few moments as Dean collected himself again. He took several deep breaths, forcing himself to ignore the lingering pain, and opened his eyes again. The world seemed more steady this time around.

"Are you alright?"

Dean nodded slowly. "What the hell happened?"

"I sincerely apologize. You startled me. I accidentally bumped you with my wing."

Cas looked overly serious, as always. Dean was struck with mild disbelief. He wasn't sure which issue to address first: the wings? or the fact that he had merely 'bumped' him and Dean was sure he'd be feeling the blow for weeks?

Ever the illustrious poet, he finally settled on: "What?"

Cas helped Dean to sit up before answering.

"I was watching the horses below and allowed my wings to physically manifest for a few moments. I enjoy the feel of the breeze through my feathers. When you startled me, I had forgotten about them and accidentally struck you with one of them."

Another dilemma played through Dean's addled mind: breeze through his feathers - like wind in one's hair? or the fact Cas had feathers at all?

Once again, poetic license took hold. "Oh."

"I am so sorry, Dean."

Dean shrugged, not without a wince. " S'okay. Been hit harder."

Cas frowned as if he didn't believe the man, but didn't say anything.

"So why couldn't I see them?"

"They were physically manifested, but not visually. It takes more energy to visually manifest them. The night we met in the barn, I had only physically manifested my wings."

"Right," Dean grunted, pushing himself to his feet. "Well, Sam is on his way. We're going to meet him in town."

Cas nodded and the two climbed into the Impala. Apparently Dean's discomfort - or blazing pain if he was honest about it - was on his face because Cas wouldn't stop staring at him.

"What?" Dean snapped as the engine turned over.

"You seem like you're still in pain. I can drive us if you would prefer."

This time, Dean did manage a laugh. "Dream on," he told the angel, pulling back onto the highway, "I could be dead and I still wouldn't let you near the steering wheel."


End file.
